What Twisted Webs We Weave

Fix Me In 45

(Pete's POV)

There's no such thing as the afterlife. Take it from me. I was dead for one minute and forty two seconds. There was no bright light waiting for me at the end of a tunnel. No guardian angel standing by my side to guide me into the afterlife. There definitely wasn't a pearly gate protecting the heavens.

Now I know what you're thinking. Who the hell said you were going to get into heaven anyway? I know the type of life I was living. And I can see where that thought was coming from. There's about a 21% chance that someone like me would even see a peek of heaven. I'm no saint. I get that.

But there was no hell either. No tortured souls screaming for redemption. No demonic presence dragging me to the fiery pits of hell. No flames waiting to scorch my soul for all eternity.

There was nothing but emptiness. Nothing but silent darkness.

I was devastated. Disappointed. Disoriented. Distraught. Depressed. And any other dangerous D words you can think of.

I understood why people held on to their religious beliefs. Because it's a scary thought. That after spending all your time trying to be a good person, you'll have nothing to show for it in the end. When your heart stops, your life stops. There is no eternity, there is only right now. You only get once chance. When your body is done, so are you.

I was so grateful I wasn't done.

The body can go on for around two minutes without an active heart. All hell breaks loose after those one hundred and twenty seconds though. Your brain has no way of storing oxygen. So that'll be next in line after the heart. And without a functioning brain, your other organs with quickly begin to shut down. One by one they'll take to their death bed.

Lucky for me the electric jolt from the defibrillator restarted my heart just in time.

And despite the fact that my doctor explained to me in specific detail what was going on with my body after I woke up, I can't remember half of it. When you come back from a near death experience, you don't really care about the medical part of it. All you care about is living. And that's the opposite of what they told me I was going to do.

Even Dr. Hurley told me not to hold onto the hope that I would live to see another week. Every other doctor in the hospital told me the same thing. But I wasn't ready to die anymore. And I wasn't going to sit around and listen to a dozen doctors tell me that was my only option.

So I left. With barely enough strength to stand on my own. If I was going to inevitably die, I wasn't going to do it in that cold, calculated room. I wanted to go somewhere where no one knew me. Where no one would cry if I died. I wanted to go to Canada.

That's where I met the man who changed my life. A student who'd been studying medicine for eight years in the friendly country. The guy who promised me health if I was willing to take a leap of faith with him. Let go of all my previous medical records and treatments. Of course I agreed. Hey, when death's knocking at your door, you do some crazy shit.

He warned me that it might not be a sure thing. But there was enough  medical research and testing done to give him hope. It was a simple drug. One doctors use to treat metabolic disorders. So there was no worry of side effects or about their long term effects. Ridiculously cheap compared to the cancer drugs I was previously receiving. DCA is what he always called it. As natural as a cure for cancer could come. Also a hundred times less painful than chemotherapy.

I don't know all the details of it. I didn't need to know. I didn't care to know. Because after a couple of months, things were improving. I was stronger, the tumor was shrinking, my hair was growing, life was perfect. I was content to stay in Canada forever with my med student while he nursed me back to perfect health.

Until I got an anonymous email telling me that Patrick was on trail for my death. How fucking ridiculous was that? My family just assumed I'd gone somewhere and died. Not caring enough to fact check or look for me. Not only was I not dead, I was not going to let them throw Patrick under the bus.

So I dragged my fake doctor, Tyler, back to the states with me to fix all that shit. I wasn't planning on staying long. I called up my old lawyer and had him contact Patrick's lawyer. Dropping all the bullshit charges my family tried to use against him.

I could have left it at that. I could have gotten on the next flight back to Canada and continued my special treatments. But I couldn't. I had to see him one last time. So I suited up in my most presentable clothes and crashed the courtroom.

The room was full of old friends and family members, but I could only see him. And I hoped he could only see me. It seemed like all I could do was stare at him for a while. Until my body reminded my brain that there was a room full of people watching me. So I stated why I was there and whispered my goodbyes to Patrick. Saying everything I needed to say to him. Hoping he could follow my lips.

I'd meant to catch the flight that night, really I had. My ticket was purchased. My bag was packed. Tyler had the cab to the airport waiting outside our hotel. There was no logical reason for me to stay there.

Yet here I am three days later, still sitting in the same hotel room. Staring out the window at the town that gave me nothing but negative memories.

"Pete?" Tyler's shrill voice yanked my reminiscent brain back to reality.

My head snapped in his direction. He was hanging off the side of his bed upside down. The top of his head rested on the carpeted floor. His knees were bent to give him better balance. I could see his phone pressed against the side of his face. This was the man with whom I'd entrusted my life.

"What?"

"I'm ordering room service. What do you want?"

"Pizza."

"And a medium pizza with extra cheese." He said politely into the phone. "Oh and chocolate cake!"

"You'd better be charging it to your card, Joseph." I glared in his direction.

"Peter Wentz. Yes, that's W-e-n-t-z."

"Fuck you, Tyler."

"Language, Pete." He laughed, hanging up the phone. "How long are we going to be here again?"

"Until I fix things with him."

"But it's been three days and you haven't tried to talk to him. You won't even leave the room to-"

"Tyler, please!" I cut him off. "I told you I needed time to plan shit."

"Language." He nearly whispered. Not wanting to agitate me further.

I ignored him. He just didn't get it.

For one minute and forty two seconds I didn't have a heart beat. Eighteen more seconds and I would have never made it out of that hospital bed. I wouldn't be alive today. I wouldn't ever have had the chance to make things right with Patrick. But that didn't happen. I was here. I was alive. And I was ready.

Fuck those eighteen seconds.

A/N:
Dear everyone who said they didn't understand the ending,
Do you understand now? No? Damn it!!!!